Written on a "writing marathon" walk around ASU campus during CAWP Summer Institute.
Signs of Life
I do not always know their names
But the shapes are familiar
Baked into my childhood memories
By years of sun and heat:
Wide, flat paddles covered in spikes
Tinged purple at the edges
Clusters of tall spears
Bursting in all directions like fireworks
Dusty green limbs, a folded lady’s fan
Stretching up and out like fingers toward the sky
Low wide barrels, ridges and valleys lined with needles
Always squatting alone
While their taller cousins reach long arms toward their neighbors
But also up and up toward cloudless, unrelenting blue.
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